Blots of Ink
by cattail prophetess
Summary: Slashy themes. A Hogwarts student veers on the edge of life; another student tries to talk her out of death.
1. Blots

Dear Harry-  
  
The fire was almost out.  
  
I'm sorry about your  
  
The only sound was the scratch of quill on parchment.  
  
cloak, but I didn't know how else to get out of the common room. Dear Ron-  
  
The silver cloak was laying on the floor, in ungraceful lumps.  
  
please don't grieve for me. Tell them it's  
  
She was wearing a thin white nightdress that had always been too small.  
  
*all right. Maybe in my absence you'll be able to carve out*  
  
It was so hard to find what to say.  
  
*a little more of yourself. Hermione-*  
  
Hermione.  
  
*I am*  
  
But it wouldn't be fair to her. It would only cause her pain, and she-  
  
The girl blotted out the last three words on the parchment. The blots of ink reminded her of something long ago. Blots of ink- yes, she remembered what that was. If only she'd gone out then...  
  
A knife, she thought- she hadn't felt like looking up spells. How very silly of her. How very immature. But then she'd always been silly, such a silly little girl-  
  
And now, at the end of all her silliness, she bowed her lambent head and picked up the dagger. It was cool and cold- she'd always wondered what one of those felt like, against your thin pale wrist, cutting deep into the veins-  
  
And then the door opened, and in an icy gust of wind, the fire went out... 


	2. of

Okay, I didn't feel like putting a disclaimer on the last one, so I shall put it here. JK's books are not mine, and none of her characters are mine. Sprout, for example, is not mine. More depressingly, Ginny is not mine, even though she is my one true love. No one else is mine either.  
  
And this is, like Ravens and Doves, not literally slash. It is about two gay people angsting out about their crushes. Therefore, if you don't like slash, you probably won't like this either. (swats all homophobes with a large fly swatter) Out! Out! Out, brief candle! Life is but a poor player, strutting and fretting his hour upon the stage-  
  
I read too much Shakespeare.  
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())()())()()()()()()()()  
For a moment, Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley stood there, barely able to see each other's faces, but wearing identical expressions of hatred.  
  
"What're you doing here?" he said, casting a spell to start the fire up again. "You're not allowed to be out this late."  
  
"Neither are you."  
  
"I'm enitled."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"I had to go to the hospital wing, if you *must* know."  
  
"This room isn't anywhere near the hospital wing, Malfoy."  
  
"I saw there was a fire, for your information, Weasley. What is this room, anyway?"  
  
"An unused classroom- I found it last week.. It suited my purpose. Now, Malfoy, if you don't mind, why don't you go away and get whatever it is you need from Madam Pomfrey?"  
  
"No, Weasley," he spat, "I think I'll decline. I'd like very much to know what you are doing here in the middle of the night, and if you don't tell me, I'm going straight to Filch."  
  
"I don't care if you go to Filch, Malfoy. In fact," Ginny slid the knife out of the sleeve of her nightgown, "with any luck I'll be dead before he gets back."  
  
"I don't believe this," Draco said, laughing. "Here I thought you actually had a reason- and you're just playing at killing yourself. Potter'll be sorry now, won't he, that he didn't ask you out? Your mum and dad that they didn't have a big house like mine?"  
  
Ginny glared at him, dark eyes under bright hair combining to a strangely frightening end. "How d'you know I'm not serious, Malfoy?"  
  
"How do I *know*, Weasley? What have you got to be serious *about*? You haven't got any *idea* why anyone would want to die."  
  
"How sure are you?" she said, pressing the knife gently to her wrist, then harder. Blood trickled out and onto the hearth. "How's that for not serious?"  
  
Draco stared. "I don't believe it," he said, almost to himself. "What is it, then?"  
  
"Why should I tell you, Malfoy?"  
  
"Because- because you're making a mistake, all right? And if you've got any sense you'll put that thing away before you do yourself any damage."  
  
"I'm not putting it away."  
  
"You're going to kill yourself, then."  
  
"Quick, are you?"  
  
"If you're going to do it no matter what I say," he whispered, knowing he was taking a risk, "why don't you just tell me? It won't matter."  
  
She studied him for a minute, her eyes narrowed. "Fine," she said, sitting back down on the hearth. "Close the door, would you?"  
  
He close the door.  
  
"It's like this, Malfoy," she whispered, signing the note. "I'm in love with Hermione Granger." 


	3. Ink

Before Draco could speak, Ginny said "I don't expect you to understand. If you change your mind about wanting to hear what I say, I'm doing it now. I know how to go for the   
veins- I've thought it out. So, will you listen or not?"  
  
His mouth twitched, almost in a smile. "I'll listen."  
  
"I don't know if I liked Harry, or if it was just- you know the way you get when you meet someone famous."  
  
His mouth twitched again. "Of course I do, Weasley."  
  
"I think it was, because I've never felt anything for a boy before or since. In fact, I'd just- started to feel that way about girls the summer before, so.. I think I knew it wasn't romantic. And then, even when I was used to him in my third and second year, I kind of held on to it, like maybe it would- like I wouldn't have to realize that I liked girls.  
  
"But by- probably by the Yule Ball, I knew, and I admitted it to myself, you know? That I was that way. But it didn't really bother me too much- I knew my family'd not have that much of a problem with it-"  
  
"Lucky."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"-and I had, you know, little crushes and stuff, but I didn't really- like anyone, seriously. And then this one day, almost at the end of the year, I was just talking to Hermione- I think she was helping me with Arithmancy, something like that- and I just sort of- realized that I was in love with her. It was... more real, more undeniable than it had ever been with anyone else I'd liked, that way. Ever.   
  
"So I kind of- thought about her a lot, over the summer, and I was nearly sure she was straight, but I told myself that- because I didn't know, maybe I was wrong, maybe she could- like me someday. It was just a daydream, you know, just a fantasy, but it sort of made me feel better.  
  
"And then- now she's going with Ron, you know, and she- I can tell she really likes him, and she always asks me for advice on his moods and stuff 'cos I'm his sister, and- I know I should be happy for her, and for him... I always liked him better than any of my other brothers, you know, but- now I'm just jealous of him." She swallowed and gave a strange, parched laugh. "So, that's it. That's why I'm here. Happy now?"  
  
"Not really," he said.  
  
"Oh?" she shot back. "And why not? Because I'm dirty or perverted or- or sick or something-"  
  
"Actually, no," he said. "Because you're acting like a little crush is the end of the world."  
  
"It's not a little crush," she snapped. "And it *is* the end of the world, the end of my world. Because I think there's only one person that everyone really, truly falls in love with, and if they don't- can't- love you, then... then you're finished. The end of your bloody world, at least."  
  
"You think I don't know that?" he whispered. "I know what it's like, Weasley. But even if you'll never feel it- as much, with other girls, which I wouldn't bet on- there are other people to fall in love with. Who'd love you."  
  
"Maybe," she said glumly. "But I doubt it."  
  
There was a silence just short enough that neither of them realized she hadn't killed herself yet.  
  
"Anyway," she asked, "what d'you mean you know what it's like?"  
  
"To like someone," he muttered, under his breath. "To know they'd never like you."  
  
"Ah," she said, almost teasing. "And who is it you like?"  
  
"I'm not telling you, stupid. You Weasleys can never keep your mouths shut."  
  
"We dead people," she whispered, "always can."  
  
Right, better humor her. Safer that way- she *did* look desperate. But that didn't mean he could make himself say it. "Prthr."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Prter."  
  
"*What?*"  
  
"*Potter*; are you deaf or something?"  
  
"You mean- oh my God."  
  
"It's not funny!"  
  
"I'm sorry- that's not why I'm laughing-"  
  
"Yes it is."  
  
"It is *not*. I'm laughing because I think Harry's actually gay."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"Seriously."  
  
"Not that I could ever- have him, of course."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Still, though, it's funny."  
  
"I know."  
  
More silence. This time long enough. She considered the knife, decided against it.   
  
"Didn't know you were, though. I feel stupid now, of course. You don't really *walk* straight."  
  
"You can tell by the way people walk?"  
  
"Sometimes."  
  
"Can you teach me?"  
  
She snickered. "Might take a while. We'd probably have to meet here once a week or something for gaydar lessons."   
  
"I thought you weren't going to last that long."  
  
The knot, the last spring, and the trap clicked. "Did you mean it, when you said that- about there being other girls?"  
  
"I'd bet my manor. Especially with that gaydar you're saying you have."  
  
"I'll- see you."  
  
"You will?"  
  
"Don't push your luck, Malfoy."  
  
The note dropped. The fire left. The knife put away. The girl momentarily satisfied, searching. The boy cold and alone and given to dreams. The elements that joined together for some quick, bright moments forever separate. 


End file.
